


The Nonviolent Road

by ColorTeal



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Aromantic Dratchet, Covert Operation, I know Swindle is dead now in IDW but he was too perfect a fit and. i love him., Injury, Mystery, Offscreen character death, Theft, Very Minor Mention of Surgery, medical setting, post-war AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorTeal/pseuds/ColorTeal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a still-rough Post-War world running a free clinic together, Ratchet and Drift find an injured Autobot with unusual arm injuries unconscious on their front steps. What little she remembers spells out major trouble; Their clinic being used to lure others into a trap, profits at the physical expense of others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Alfheimr of tumblr!

She could feel her team dragging her across a cold and littered ground. Flashpoint could hear them, “ _Go, go!_ ” “ _Get out!_ ” “ _Run!_ ” she could feel the yelling in her chest.

For Flashpoint, everything faded in and out of blackness.

“ _Find help._ ” “ _Clinic._ ” “ _Underground._ ” “ _Onslaught won’t._ ” “ _Through here!_ ” “ _Drag Strip!_ ”

When she tried to stand, her legs failed her. Flashpoint’s joints caved into the carefully-placed seams in her armor, and she collapsed under her own weight. She was dragged, thrown, all the while knowing she was flitting in and out of consciousness.

* * *

Drift moved to open the front door of the clinic, the front of the building faced the sunrise and Drift was more than happy to let sunshine and a breeze into the place. This was something Ratchet tolerated, and Drift was happy enough to have that.

This particular morning had a frame on the doorstep, splattered with energon. Dirty, leaking, Drift’s first thought was ‘dying’.

“Ratchet!”

“Already? We ju-” Ratchet huffed, but turning around, he was met with the young speedster dragging a person nearly his own size into the clinic. He could see the energon seeping through the seams, streaking across the white floor. “Into the back. Now.”

With their combined effort, the white and bronze body they’d dragged in was on their table. Ratchet took charge, Drift quietly and quickly handed over any tool Ratchet called for.

“Whoever this bot is, they pissed off the wrong guy last night.” Ratchet grumbled. “Rotator torn to shreds, and I found half an axel far from where it belongs.”

Drift remained quiet, standing by for any assistance until, “They’re fine. Or, they will be, in time. Whoever they are, they’re stable and will hopefully wake up soon so they can tell us what the hell happened.”

The younger mech busied himself with putting a wet floor warning near the entrance, something to be cleaned later when there wasn’t  a queue of people waiting for help. There were already three, minor injuries and Drift took to helping them. He had been at the clinic long enough, he could fix a pulled joint that was out of reach, replace a finger or readjust someone’s jarred kibble.

When they both found time, they cleaned. The floors, tools, Drift was amazed at how much time he spent cleaning. Almost as much as he had spent hurting others in his past, almost as much as he spent helping others now.

He wasn’t done cleaning and sorting all of Ratchet’s small tools when he heard his name being called from the other side of their clinic. He moved, swift, fast, making a beeline for the back rooms intended for critical patients.

He peeked in and saw Ratchet, and a visor online and glowing blue.

“This is Flashpoint.” Ratchet introduced her to Drift, arms crossed. “And she doesn’t remember how she got here.”

“I remember a few words. Possibly names, or places.” Flashpoint said, one hand fidgeting in her lap. “Clinic, underground, run, Onslaught, th-”

“Onslaught?” Drift perked up, hands dropping to his sides.

“Is that a name?”

“Could be. I know an Onslaught. He’s a decepticon, he’s got his own team.”

Drift looked to Ratchet, blue optics big. Ratchet flinched, and he tried to cover it up with his crossed arms, shifting his stance.

It hurt in many ways, when Drift’s past reared its head.

“Never heard of him, myself.” Flashpoint hummed, her only hand running over her battered forearm.

“Tell us everything you remember.” Drift said, pulling up a small stool, sitting down to listen.

“I got hurt. Earlier in the day.” Flashpoint said, her fingertip rubbing at ugly weld lines. “Something jammed up. I couldn’t transform, and you know how it is, I’m sure, being doctors. Can’t tell if it’s the t-cog or the frame. My team asked around, found out about a free clinic.”

“What happened between that and waking up here?” Drift prodded.

“Well, we went underground.”

“Underground?” Ratchet asked. Drift’s optics flicked up, reading the older doctor. He was already losing patience.

“Yes, because that’s where the free clinic is. Was. Is that not… where I am?”

“You’re in a free clinic, yes, but underground?” Ratchet laughed. “No, no no. You’re on the surface. Sunshine and everything.”

“But… I was underground.”

“Whoever told you there was a free clinic in some dark lower level of Cybertron lied to you and your teammates.” Drift interrupted, his hands moving as he spoke. “This is the only free clinic in the area. Are you sure there’s not anything else you remember?”

“Nothing.” She sighed.

“Whatever you were doing, your arm’s in pretty bad shape. So is your shoulder, which is actually the bigger problem.” Ratchet leaned in, hands pressing in between plates of armor, Drift watched as Flashpoint’s mouth pulled into a pained look, and Ratchet staring at her destroyed arm. “I’ll get you something better for the pain, but I want you to stay here.”

“Thank you.” She said. “Hopefully my team knows I’m here, maybe they know everything that happened.”

Drift was quick to lean into Ratchet, as he searched through a cabinet for medicine.

“You were staring at her arm.”

“It’s severely damaged.”

“You got that look, though.”

“Drift.”

“That look that says you’ve seen this before, that it’s something really bad.” Drift whispered. “And Onslaught might be involved. Ratchet, did you never even hear about him?”

“I don’t believe rumors spread around by impressionable bots and cons.” Ratchet huffed.

“Ratchet, if Onslaught’s involved, this is bad.” Drift said, hands on Ratchet’s shoulder and refusing to release. “This is really, really bad.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Nobody’s come in for her.”

Ratchet looked to his left at Drift. “It’s only been a few days. This post-war life is hard on everyone, give this some time. They’ll turn up.”

“Not if Onslaught is involved.” Drift hung his head a little lower, rubbing a little harder at the scalpel he was cleaning. “Ratchet, we need to find out. We n-”

“Oh no you don’t.” Ratchet said, hands dropping and letting the forceps drop to the countertop. “Drift, don’t you even _think_ about diving into this. We can’t throw ourselves into the unknown, we have responsibilities, both of us.”

“Ra-”

“How are you going to help people if you go out and get hurt? If you end up on my operating table?” Ratchet grabbed Drift’s arms, holding him still and staring with brows furrowed. “Or worse, turn up dead, if you turn up at all?”

“But if nobody does anything, more people could end up like Flashpoint.” Drift spat back, optics dark. “You think she’s the first, in whatever is going on? You think she’ll be the last?”

“Drift.” Ratchet tightened his grip.

“Why did you stare at her arm? Ratchet, please just tell me.”

The older doctor sighed. “She was ripped apart with enough force to take her arm off. A couple hits like that to her core would have killed her.”

“...Why do this?” Drift shrugged Ratchet off his frame.

“Lots of reasons, I’m sure, although we would need more information to do much of anything about it.” Ratchet said, stopping and catching Drift’s expression, hard and determined. “Drift. No. I agree with you that something awful could be going on, but you do no-”

“Someone has to do _something_ , Ratchet.” Drift shook his hands in front of him as he spoke. “Give me my swords. Now. Get them out of whatever box you’ve locked them up in and hidden.”

“No.” Ratchet said flatly. “Flashpoint is awake but still critical. We’ll move the information we have forward, let someone el-”

He stopped, at the harsh glare he got from Drift.

“Ratchet, someone is intentionally sending people the wrong way. People who need our help.” Drift said, voice strong and refusing to break eye-contact. “You always say there’s lots of ways to help people, why can’t I d-”

“Fine.” Ratchet said, finally letting go. “But no sword.”

“How will I defend myself?”

“By not getting into confrontation.” Ratchet answered, shuffling through a drawer. “I’ll fix you up with some communication, a tracker, just in case. But no sword, it’ll give you an excuse to dive headfirst into danger.”

Drift sighed as Ratchet took his hand, attaching the tiny radio/tracking device in between the seams of his white armor, easily hidden away. “I’d still like a sword.”

“You want to go find more information? Go.” Ratchet said, catching Drift’s disbelief. “Drift, I’m trying to sound honest here. It’s really okay. But I can’t have you get into trouble, getting hurt or…You have to come back. Don’t leave me alone with all these patients.”

Drift’s face lightened up, a small smile pulling through.

“If I’m not back by sunrise, call someone.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had set by the time Drift slipped from the clinic, into the streets of the city. He already had an idea of who to talk to, but finding them turned out to be another matter entirely.

Usually, Swindle wasn’t one to stay so hidden, hard to procure business if you’re hard to reach. A couple of conversations and enough shanix at the right people led Drift to him, finding Swindle working out of a small ship he had nestled in between two buildings.

“Ahh, Drift, long time no see!” Swindle said with a smile. Drift took it as genuine. “I’m certain you need something from me, everyone always needs something.”

“Just a little bit of your time and some information.” Drift said, smiling back. “May I come in?”

Swindle stepped to the side, waving Drift into his home, his office, his warehouse. While organized, the ship was jam-packed with various things. Even the roof was hidden above the full rack of guns, and bars of scrap metal.

“So, time and information?” Swindle said, leaning against one of the lockers.

“I need everything you know about Onslaught.” Drift said, sitting on a footlocker Swindle motioned to. “Anything recent, I mean.”

“Ah…” Swindle hummed a few notes. “I actually haven’t been in contact with him for several months.”

“But you’re one of his Combaticons. You were a part of his team, and I doubt you’ve burned that bridge.”

Swindle rubbed at the back of his helm, purple optics dimmed and looking anywhere but Drift’s face. “I’ve left the Combaticons. I don’t regret being a part of Onslaught’s team, but I don’t regret leaving either. He got… weird. My needs changed, you know how it is, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Drift answered. “But you know his MO, you know what kinds of operations he likes to run.”

“You think he’s on Cybertron? Here?”

“I can’t talk too much about it, but yes.” Drift sighed, knowing that he and Swindle both were aware that Onslaught was never good news for anyone who wasn’t a Combaticon. “I’m certain he is, and people are showing up hurt. Severely hurt, Swindle I need anything you can give me.”

“For starters, he always keeps his hands clean. Clean as you can in war, I mean.” Swindle said. “He’ll be involved, but you aren’t likely to find him on-site. He likes running theft rings, big locations, stockades, mugging people on the streets if he has to.”

“Anything specific?” Drift leaned in.

“Weapons. It’s always weapons.”

“That explains why you guys were always well-equipped.”

“Didn’t come from Megatron, heh.” Swindle chuckled. “If he’s around, if he’s busy on Cybertron he’s going to be stealing weapons somehow, and he’s going to be well-armed.”

“Thank you, Swindle. For this.” Drift stood up. “I’m surprised you didn’t charge me for this.”

“I was going to. Until you mentioned Onslaught.” Swindle said, shrugging. “I know very well how dangerous he is, and you said people were getting hurt. If I knew where he was, maybe. But I severed contact with him, I don’t have leverage.”

“You got any idea where he might be working?” Drift asked. “Sorry that I’m asking for so much, especially when you have no certainties but for now, you’re the only lead.”

“Old buildings. He’s a fan of being underground. Stay in city limits though, he doesn’t like to work hard.” was Swindle’s answer. “Check with some other Decepticon combiner teams, we’re kind of a unique bunch, we kept in contact with the other groups. Not sure if anyone’s a defector like I am, though.”

“Thank you. Thank you.” Drift reached for Swindle, shaking his hand with both of his own but froze when Swindle gripped him hard, and pulled him close.

“Three things. One, if it’s really Onslaught, do _not_ go alone, because he won’t be. Two, if you find him, tell me where. Tell me what he’s doing. I might just pay you for it. And three, don’t let him know I’m involved in this.”

“Why not?” Drift furrowed his brow, optics squinting. “Did you do somethi-”

“Don’t ask.”

It was silent for an entire minute. Aside from the hum of basic ship systems running, there was nothing but quiet.

“Any specific combiner leaders I should find first?”

“Try Motormaster.” said Swindle, causing Drift to grimace. That was not a pleasant Cybertronian to interact with, even on his good days. “I _know_ he’s on Cybertron. And Combaticons have done work with the Stunticons before. You know, before I left.”

“You’ve helped so much.” Drift said, letting go of the yellow bot, and taking a step towards the door. “If you ever need help, find me. I’ll see what I can do.”

“You know what I like, Drift.” Swindle said, rubbing his fingers against his thumb. “Just make sure you come back, so I can take you up on that.”

* * *

Drift slipped between a few buildings, before settling into an open area with a busy night life.

“Ratchet?” Drift talked into the tiny microphone. “Ratchet, you still awake?”

“Yes, yes what?” came a gruff voice.

“I contacted Swindle, it’s possible Onslaught’s involved. His MO is secluded buildings and underground, working theft.” Drift relayed.

A huff came through the radio. “So what’s the good news?”

“There isn’t any. this is a Bad News-Worse News situation.”

“Great. What’s the… worse news.”

“Swindle claims Onslaught sometimes worked with other combiner teams. He suggested I find Motormaster first, and his Stunticons.” All that came as a reply was a groan, and a muffled bang. Drift knew Ratchet, he could imagine the doctor with one hand on his face, the elbow slammed onto a countertop as he leaned into his palm.

“So it’s Onslaught and Motormaster, making it possible that we have ten people involved.”

“Nine.”

“What?”

“Swindle left the Combaticons. The only good news is he didn’t charge me anything for this information.”

“Drift, if Swindle left… you know what combiner teams are like? You remember? Onslaught had to do something that Swindle of all people wasn’t agreeable to...”

“Oh.” The realization hit hard. “Swindle’s a target.”

“Where was he?” Ratchet said.

“In a tightly-packed ship. Stuffed between two buildings, it took conversations and shanix with several people to find him.”

“Swindle’s not one to hide. He’s an opportunist, a capitalist, but he’s working out of one ship. No warehouses? Nothing?”

“His ship was packed with expensive weapons and materials, Ratchet. I’m talking stuff worth thousands of shanix.” Drift put a hand over his mouth. “He’s packed up, he’s hiding. Should I offer to bring him back to the clinic with me?”

“Might be best for him to stay put, staying out of sight completely.” Ratchet sighed. He sounded ragged, tired. Drift began to think that the old bot might have overworked today while he was out. “He can come, but moving his horde is dangerous, and I doubt he’d leave it.”

Drift nodded to himself. “Makes sense. Alright. I’m coming back. Go to sleep, I’m not far away, I’ll do the last round.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ratchet and Drift were busy all through the day, all into the evening. Drift busied with hooking a new line into the still-critical Flashpoint, while she and Ratchet were busy with her damaged arm.

“Theft?” Flashpoint asked. “You think my attack was for theft?”

“What did you have installed in this arm?” Ratchet asked with a rough voice. “You were struck with enough force to take the arm clean off, your entire shoulder joint needs replacing and everything will need reattaching. This force could have killed you if it was aimed at your chest. Why your arm?”

“Ratchet… gently.” Drift said softly.

Flashpoint cleared her throat. “I had a Hyposonic bolt gun. I have them custom made for my team, they work even if you’re submerged in water, oil, energon… they’re very expensive.”

“Sounds useful.” Drift added.

“Very. Short range, but high rate of fire, the bolts pierce anything.”

“Someone would definitely want that.” Ratchet said, optics and fingertips now busy running over her weld lines. “This hurt?”

“No, no.” Flashpoint said, shrugging. “Feels weird, but it’s not painful.”

“Good.” Ratchet smiled a little. “It’s healing nicely, you’ll be out in a few days. I ordered what I need to replace your arm, after that you’re free to go.”

“Thank you, both of you.” She said, turning to Drift. “I know you’re still looking for who did this. You don’t have to, but I’m glad someone is.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Flashpoint.” Drift replied. “I’m keeping an eye and ear out for your team, as well. It’s shocking that whoever brought you here hasn’t stopped by.”

“You rest, I’ll check on you later.” Ratchet patted Flashpoint gently on the shoulder, before getting up and exiting, pulling Drift with him.

“So, what next?” Ratchet asked, pushing his elbow into Drift’s side. “I know it’s not over for you. What’s your next plan?”

“Find Onslaught, probably kill him.” Drift answered, kneeling to rift through a drawer.

“You can’t handle every bad situation like that.”

“No, but…” Drift paused, fingers buried in tools. “Ratchet, it has to be handled.”

“I agree.” Ratchet knelt next to him. “Just be careful. Be covert, collect information. You can help without charging at others with swords drawn.”

“It’s hard, Ratchet.” Drift pushed his crest into his knee, hands slowly pushing away to gently shut the drawer. “Swords are easier.”

Ratchet leaned down, putting a firm hand to the back of his protégé. “Come on. If you’re going to go out, you need to get ready.”

Drift rose slowly and carefully, still staring at the floor. “Do you really trust me? To not handle this with violence?”

“I believe you are capable of nonviolence, Drift.” Ratchet said, as Drift put his palms to the countertop to hold himself up. “But I have to believe that of everyone… That includes you.”

“...Thank you.” Drift said. He inhaled sharply, straightening his back. “Okay. Okay, I’m heading out.”

“Got the radio tracker?” Drift nodded, pointing to it. “Alright. Just... Please be careful out there. Back out if you need to.”

“I will.” Drift said. “I’ll come back.”

* * *

He headed out as the sun set, and moved for the outskirts of the industrial district. Drift already knew about a few entrances to Cybertron’s deeper layers, some safer than others. But this one was unfamiliar to him, unexplored and unmapped and it only added to the danger of the situation.

Dangerous enough that his fingers twitched, flinching to reach at empty hilts.

Deeper and deeper, Drift had to force all of his frame’s lights to dim as low as he could force them. Detection was not an option.

Dark, dark and darker, but as the light disappeared around Drift, he found it replaced with sound. Faint, but he could hear voices through the caves bouncing off the metal of the planet.

“Are you gonna move last night’s haul or not?!” “I’ve been moving equipment all d-” “We didn’t even get that much. It should already be done!”

Drift peered from what he hoped with his entire spark was a safe enough location, into a dimly lit worksite. He noticed Motormaster first. Big person, a surly and ruthless individual.

A bot Drift recognized as Blast Off had Motormaster at his feet, fist making contact with the Stunticon leader.

Swindle was right that Stunticons could be working with the Combaticons, but the white and red youngster was certain this was not what his market-minded lead had in mind.

More yelling, and more Stunticon members ran in to line up. Motormaster, Wildrider, Breakdown was shaking in his blue plating and Drift felt pity for the paranoid bot. Dead End showed up last, making four. Drift waited, watching the four combiners and waited for the missing fifth.

Drag Strip never appeared.

“I want this shipment moved before the sun sets.” Vortex called from a rickety-looking higher level. “Onslaught’s expecting you Stunticons to help us keep product moving, and he’ll be giving the signal to start surface work soon. Brawl is already up top, sending weak bots our way.

“You know what happens when the numbers are bad,” Blast Off clapped, hard and loud and it echoed in the cave. “let’s not have a repeat of what happened to Drag Strip. Move.”

Drift flinched as Breakdown let out a sharp wail, watching as a dull-colored Dead End pulled him to his feet.

None of the Stunticons wanted to be here. Drift could tell, they were all dirty and shaking, faded paint and dull optics. He could feel anger welling up in his spark, heavy and hot as he reached over his shoulder for a sword he didn’t have on his back.

Drift froze, believing he could and should do something about this now, before Onslaught has another night of freedom to rob and harm others. But with no weapons, he slowly retreats from the cave, quiet until far enough away to run, to transform and speed off to return to the clinic.


	5. Chapter 5

Drift slammed past the doors, not waiting for them to fully part and make way. Rachet heard him before anything else. “Drift? That you?”

Drift was silent as he pulled Ratchet into a more secluded part of the clinic, an area just for them. “It’s Onslaught.”

Ratchet said nothing. He had never encountered the Decepticon himself, but he had seen the results of such encounters.

“We can’t fight Onslaught.”

“He has three others with him, the rest of the Combaticons minus Swindle.”

“We definitely cannot fight the Combaticons.”

“The Stunticons were there too.” Drift said, a hard strain on his voice as he recalled the sight of them. “...Minus… minus Drag Strip.”

Ratchet leaned in. “Why is he not there?” he asked. “Both groups have a defector?”

“I’m certain he’s dead.”

Silence. A pause for a hard, long minute.

“We definitely… absolutely cannot fight two teams of Decepticons at once.” Ratchet said, trying to keep his voice down. “Drift w-”

“They’re using _our_ clinic.” Drift leaned forward, arms crossing on the countertop, face resting into the crook of his elbow. “Onslaught attacks people who are already sick or hurt… He’s taking their weapons. Internal weapons, Ratchet…”

“I’m not surprised that this didn’t die with the war…” Ratchet sighed, putting his elbows on the table, leaning forward with his jaw in his palms. Drift peered up, lifting his head just enough to look over his armor. “You noticed it; I have seen this before, Drift. On both sides of the war. I’ve had Autobots come in with these injuries, I’ve seen Decepticons with the same… and I’ve seen both Bot and Con do this.”

“...What did you do?”

“I helped everyone I could, Drift.” Ratchet put a red hand to Drift’s back. “You’re doing exactly what I did.”

“Was it easy?” Drift asked, so quiet he thought he might have to repeat himself.

“Never.”

Drift pushed his face back into the dark made by his arms.

“You did good, Drift.”

Drift looked back up. “He’s still out there though… Onslaught is working right now, and it’s hurting others.”

“Listen to me.” Ratchet used both hands to gently pull Drift off the counter. “You. Did. Good.” Ratchet patted Drift’s red spaulders with firm hands. “I’ll alert proper authorities. You should let Swindle know how this turned out after some rest, I’m sure he’ll want to know.”

“You sure?” Drift asked. “This is _Swindle_.”

“Yes, and I’d like him to be indebted to us.”

* * *

After making one wrong turn and getting lost and finally finding the lodged ship, he wasn’t even home. He moved through the populated street, happy to be out in the daylight for the first time in days and looked for the ochre-colored bot.

Swindle was easily pointed out by a few strangers, and Drift waved for his attention over the heads and shoulders of those around him.

“So, either you’re good at not getting caught,” Swindle said with a grin. “or it wasn’t Ons-”

“Can we talk? Somewhere private.”

“Now, now. I came out here for l-”

Drift leaned in, close to Swindle with his chin on the shorter and blockier bot’s shoulder. “I have names, deaths, locations.”

“You’ve bought my attention. Let’s go, I can buy lunch later.” Swindle pushed Drift off his back, and motioned with his hand for Drift to lead the way. They drove through a shortcut back to the clinic.

“I had heard about the free clinic, but you know, I’ve never been out here.” Swindle transformed back onto his feet.

“Because you’ve been hiding. Come on.” Drift put a palm to Swindle’s back, ushering him inside. “Keep quiet, move straight to the back.”

Despite that, Swindle gave a charismatic smile and wave to every patient he made eye-contact with. “Hey, how are you lovely patients doing today? Hey there.”

“Swindle. Shh.” Drift decided to put a hand over that smile, finishing the trip down the hallway to the back room. The space that was Home, rather than Work. “Hi Ratchet. I’m home, and we have a guest.”

“Another patient?” Ratchet’s voice said, slightly distant and bouncing off the walls. He entered the room drying his hands, and his neutral expression dropped into a slight scowl. “Hello, Swindle.”

“Hello.” Swindle said, squirming to get his mouth away from Drift’s fingers. “When you said private, Drift? I didn’t expect company.”

“Ratchet knows about what’s going on.” Drift piped up, drawing his frame away from Swindle’s.

“Care to fill me in?”

“Drift says it’s Onslaught.” Ratchet said, tossing his towel aside. “He saw Combaticons and Stunticons. Thing is, they were missing a Combaticon.”

“Ah, yes. Me.” Swindle rubbed the side of his head. “I left before the war ended, so it’s been awhile.”

“Why?” Ratchet asked, completely unamused. Drift jumped up to sit on the countertop and listen.

“I wanted to branch out. Working both sides of a war is far more profitable than working one side.” Swindle started explaining. “Onslaught wanted to do the same kind of raids, but the danger level kept increasing. I like living quite a lot, so I called it quits.”

“Okay.” Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nose. “Next question, wh-”

“I didn’t come here to be questioned, _Drift_.” Swindle shot a sharp look at Drift. “I help you out, and this is what I get?”

“Ratchet isn’t so great at the ‘nice’ thing when he’s frustrated. He doesn’t mean to sound like he’s interrogating you.” Drift said, hands held up.

Swindle considered his options for a moment, before continuing. “Fine. I’m making a gamble that you two aren’t going to haul me off to jail.”

“What do you know about Drag Strip?”

“He’s a sore loser, he loves to win and win it all.” Swindle answered. “Egotistical, brags all the time. Drag Strip’s likely only part of a gestalt because it means more victories he can be a part of. In short: Annoying. Why ask me about him, I know I got connections but we were on different teams.”

“Because the Stunticons are also down to four members.” Drift chimed in. “But unlike you, Drag Strip is dead.”

“... Oh.” Swindle put his fingers to his lip. “That is news to me. But he was who he was, and that kind of attitude can get you killed. Any idea who did it?”

“Onslaught is my bet.” Drift said. He rocked his legs, heels tapping the cabinet under him. “From my observations last night, the Stunticons are being forced to work with, even for, the Combaticons. Drag Strip ended up dead.”

“He may have tried to leave.” Swindle hummed into his fingers. “Onslaught and Drag Strip have very different ideals for victory. Same for me and Onslaught, which is why I left.”

“Onslaught doesn’t seem to be a big fan of deserters, Swindle.” Ratchet added.

“Yeah and Starscream’s vain, thanks for the obvious.” Swindle crossed his arms, shifting his weight between his legs. “I was already hiding, specifically because of him. When you’re in space all you need to do is keep moving, but there’s not a lot of livable habitat on Cybertron yet, and my ship can’t break orbit.”

“It’s also stuck between two buildings.” Drift pointed out.

“That too.”

“We have his location, though. We have names, we even have a victim here in our clinic right now.” Drift said, hands gripping the edge of the countertop for support. “That’s all we need. He’ll go to jail, nobody gets hurt, your business can go public again, Swindle.”

“Onslaught keeps his hands clean. I like your optimism, but whoof, good luck in actually getting the boss himself.” Swindle laughed. "Seriously. Good luck.”

“You’re ex-Combaticon though.” Ratchet said, chin in hand. “Couldn’t you help?”

“Courts are bad for my business.” Swindle waved his hands, dismissive. “I need to keep up my neutral appearance. I don’t want my name or face anywhere near this.”

“Bad for business, or bad for your life?” Drift arched a brow.

“With me, what’s the difference?” Swindle shrugged. “Good luck with this, but I’d like to go home, now.”

* * *

It was so quiet after Swindle left. Empty. Drift busied himself with keeping Flashpoint company, disappointed that her team still had not shown up.

“It really isn’t like them.” She said, touching her new fingers, flexing the joints. It was rough, a new hand built from scratch by Ratchet. The color was off, and Ratchet had tried his best to match it to her other hand. It was close, but with enough observation the differences stuck out.

“I’m sure.” Drift said. “We’re still keeping an eye out for them. I have to ask you, though: Are you comfortable enough to help us with an arrest?”

“An arrest?”

“I found the people who tore open your arm.” Drift spoke quietly. “Names, location, everything. I don’t think anyone can force you to bu-”

“Yes.” Flashpoint grinned, visor bright. “I’m well enough that I can do this. Doctor Ratchet actually told me that as soon as feeling comes back into my hand, I could leave. So I’m certain I’m well enough for a trial and finding my team. Especially Minerva, she’s so young.”

“We’ll find them. They might be in hiding.” Drift got up. “That’s what I would expect.”

“I hope they did.” Flashpoint looked at her arm. Nasty weld lines that had barely healed, reopened recently for further surgery. “I hope they hid well enough. I can wait all this time, so long as they are safe.”

“Knock knock.” Ratchet said, instead of actually knocking. Drift gave a small courteous bow to Flashpoint before exiting to the hallway “Called the authorities. Dropped my name, got in touch directly with friends. They’re heading for the cave Onslaught’s working out of right now.”

“That’s great.” Drift’s smile was short-lived. “Do they know that the Stuntic-”

“That they’re hostages-slash-slave labor, yes. I let them know.” Ratchet said, spark warmed at how strongly Drift could come to care for others. “They’re getting out of there.”

“But not Drag Strip.”

“Drift, you weren’t- Don’t.” Ratchet signed, holding Drift’s face in one hand, thumb on his cheek. “Don’t do this to yourself. Sometimes… sometimes you have to accept you can’t save everyone.”

Drift was quiet, unnervingly quiet before he pushed into Ratchet’s palm.

“Okay.”

* * *

Drift didn’t leave the clinic again until he had heard confirmation that the Combaticons were arrested. Flashpoint let them know that she had given all the information she had, and left them a thank-you gift in the form of a small donation of shanix.

He left when he could, careful to not leave Ratchet with too much work, leaving during the slow hour of late morning for Swindle’s makeshift office-slash-home and surprised to see that there was no change. No sign, no lights were on. Drift reminded himself that he had no idea how Swindle actually operated his business, but knocked on the docking bay door anyways.

Swindle opened the door. “Drift! Saw you coming up. Cameras. Need something?”

“Just thought I’d stop by. You heard the Combaticons were arrested? I know you left the team, but I’m sorry that’s how it ended up for your old comrades.”

“Only three of them were arrested.” Swindle said, chuckling nervously. “I was surprised you were out at all, even if it’s daylight.”

Drift’s jaw dropped a little. “You’re telling me Onslaught isn’t in jail.”

“He never goes to jail. Never faces the consequences.” Swindle leaned on the doorframe. “Meanwhile the rest of us Combaticons, or ex-Combaticons if you will let me include my own experiences, faced all kinds of jail. Autobot, Neutral, organic alien jails. He only fought others off with us if he was sure he could kill everyone. No witnesses allowed.”

“Why follow him? What makes him so great of a leader that you and others would follow him?” Drift said.

“Because he always busted us out of jail.” Swindle flashed a grin to hide his nerves. “One way or another, he always got us out.”

“...Oh, no.” Drift stammered.

“Oh, yes. That’s why I’m not so choked up over them getting arrested.” Swindle rolled his shoulders. “They’ll be out sooner or later. This is why I wanted my name kept out of this. And if you’re smart, you kept your name out of it too.”

“Why didn’t this come up earlier, Swindle?”

“One, you didn’t ask. Two, I didn’t think they’d actually get arrested and three, I knew it didn’t matter anyways.”

“How long?” Drift asked. He felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his frame, his chest felt compressed and hot.

“Never too long.” Swindle said, no humor in his tone now. “Someday Onslaught will get too mad, and he’ll screw up, Drift. Hopefully someone like you will be waiting to ruin him permanently.”

“...What did he do to piss you off?”

“You’re not rich enough to ask for that.” Swindle’s face scrunched up. Drift’s shoulders locked, it was obvious he had tried to cross a sensitive boundary. “Go home, and tell Ratchet that you two get one favor from me. As a thanks for ruining Onslaught’s day. Just one, though. Spend it wisely, I’m a bot of many talents.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Drift was home. He stayed indoors, keeping his mind off the fact that, since Swindle had been right so far and knew Onslaught intimately, that the Combaticons would be free again.

Talking with Ratchet proved to not be such a great distraction.

“I let them know that Onslaught likes to do prison breaks, Drift.” Ratchet said, without even looking up from his datapad. “We need more syringes and tubing. We’re low.”

“I’ll order some tonight.” Drift said, answer short and curt.

“You’re still worried?” Ratchet asked. “Drift. You can’t spend too much time worrying. Deal with things as they come. If you worry, you won’t have any energy to handle things thrown at us. You.”

“I’m upset, Ratchet.” Drift closed the drawer he had been organizing. “All I did was pause their mayhem, I didn’t actually do anything.”

“Come here.” Drift looked at Ratchet, optics squinting and he stood there hesitating. He found Ratchet coming to him instead, putting both arms around the younger bot. “You did a good job.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Drift mumbled into Ratchet’s shoulder.

Ratchet sighed. “It rarely does. But that’s no reason to not try.”

“I could have helped by killing him, too.” Drift continued mumbling.

“Drift, that fight would have been seven-to-one.” Ratchet pushed Drift away, hands on his upper arms and locking his optics on him. “I’m not saying he’s not awful. I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve to get his just desserts.”

“Then why don’t I feel anything about it?”

The question ripped at Ratchet’s spark, remembering his own confrontation with the same realization. “You’re not looking at the right places. At the right people.” Drift huffed, but Ratchet didn’t wait for his protégé to say anything more. “Look at Flashpoint. She doesn't have to wonder who hurt her so badly. Neither do many others. And Swindle. He has some freedom for now to do... whatever it is he does.”

Ratchet could see the positive results of Drift’s actions settling in, dawning on Drift.

“You also saved the Stunticons. Instead of being forced to kill them to get to Onslaught, cause he seems the type to use living shields, they are instead free.”

He watched Drift sink deep into thought, processing everything that Ratchet had thrown at him. It was in the corners of Drift’s mouth that he always could tell which emotional direction he was going in.

With a tiny parting of his lips that swelled into a small smile, “I’ve got one more way I can help.”

“...Are you going to ask for a sword again?”

“No. Just for you to cover my work until I’m back?”

Ratchet smiled, waving Drift off. “You’re doing room fourteen when you come back, though.”

* * *

 

Drift made his way to Swindle’s. He really needed to get his comm number, he thought as he made his way to the docking bay door, rapping his knuckles on the metal. “Swindle! Open up.”

Swindle opened the door, the sudden light making his optics dim automatically. “Drift, I love your visits but I’m a busy bot.”

“You’re hiding in a ship wedged between two old buildings and sitting on your stockpile until it’s safe for you to do any business, you’re not busy.” Drift said with a smirk. “But would you like to be?”

“You know I’m not one to sit on my servos. Or at least, not enjoy it.”

“I’m cashing in that favor.” Drift said, taking Swindle’s cue to come inside. “...I need you to find people.”

“People? As in plural?” Swindle crossed his arms. “You’ve only got one favor. Pick one person.”

“I need you to find any of four individuals. Any one of them.” Drift said, making himself comfortable on Swindle’s footlocker that doubled as his seat before. “Finding one might lead you, or I, to the others. Find whoever is easiest.”

“Done. I’ll get in touch with my contacts who aren’t in danger of sudden capture and torture.” Swindle pulled out a datapad. “Give me the names.”

“Flashpoint’s team. My patient. Ex-patient, the one who led me to Onslaught and his organization. The names are Minerva, Flareup, and Lickety-Split.”

“You mentioned four.” Swindle scrolled through his datapad.

“The fourth could be anyone I mentioned, but they could be a separate individual.” Drift said. “I want you to find who brought Flashpoint to the clinic.” Swindle froze for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Drift to catch it.

“I’ll see what I can do, Drift. I’ll see what I can do.”

Drift nodded, getting up and making his own way to the exit. “By the way, you’re always welcome at the clinic. Ratchet and I are both very thankful for your help, I’m just sorry we’ve asked for so much.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Swindle said, still going through his datapad. “I chose to help, and it’s paid off. I’ll find your friends, Drift. Take the drive by the door on your way out.”

He took the drive, tiny black and shiny, with caution. He plugged it in as he walked back home.

It was Swindle’s number.

* * *

 

Within days, Swindle pulled through for the medic and medic-in-training. Flashpoint called, saying that a complete stranger walked up to her, took her by the hand and led her to her team. Drift didn’t expect something like this so soon. Flashpoint was reunited with her entire team.

“They were disoriented in the attack.” Drift explained, after ending his call with their happy ex-patient. “They didn’t even remember where they were hit, just that they were hit by someone at all.”

“What, did they all separate to find help?” Ratchet said, tone gruff. His default.

“Seems so. I guess whichever Combaticon made the hit, they only could take one, and that was Flashpoint. Everyone else was okay, just… Yeah. Super disoriented.”

“So, which one was it that left her on our doorstep? Going off names, I want to say Minerva.” Ratchet asked, while his focus was on flexing his hands.

“Swindle said he wasn’t able to find who actually brought Flashpoint here.”

“Hmm…” Ratchet hummed, flexing cables in his fingers and wrists. “I’m glad they’re okay… but are you? You dove into this pretty deep, Drift.”

Ratchet was getting noticeably better at sounding concerned.

“I... I just learned a lot, Ratchet.” Drift managed. “I’m not used to handling danger without violence. I’m used to literally cutting out the bad. Or through it. Thanks for stopping me from that.”

Drift was getting noticeably better at voicing his appreciation.

 


End file.
